


ain't gotta hide this heart of mine

by fortunedays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, chaotic bisexual harry, good times only!!, yule ball shenanigans feat. silly teenage drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunedays/pseuds/fortunedays
Summary: With the Yule Ball fast approaching, Harry's search for a date is becoming a bit desperate. When Cho turns him down, he turns to Neville for advice - but he gets a little more insight into himself than he bargained for.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Cho Chang/Hermione Granger (background)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 395





	ain't gotta hide this heart of mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isntthisjustwonderful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isntthisjustwonderful/gifts).



> can y'all believe this is my first ever hp fic after being in the fandom for at least a decade?? me either. anyway, please enjoy this absolutely chaotic fic that came to me whilst scrolling through twitter. xx

Of all the things Harry could possibly be focusing on, this Potions essay, sitting half-written under his quill that has been hovering mid-thought for the past several minutes, is certainly not one of them.

Across the table, Hermione scratches away, her absurdly small handwriting occupying significantly more parchment than he’s managed to complete. It could be worse, Harry tells himself, turning to a more useful page of his text; he could be Ron, who appears closer to pulling out a fistful of hair than discussing anything related to antidotes. Finding a promising paragraph, Harry inks his quill and begins writing.

By the time he wraps up his paragraph, Hermione has finished her essay and Ron has begun his nightly ritual of wheedling her for help. The opening of the common room door, almost loud in the near-empty room, catches the trio’s attention. Neville stumbles through, a wide smile on his face, and Potions is immediately forgotten.

“What’s up with you?” Ron asks, still disgruntled. “Please tell me they’ve cancelled Potions for the rest of the year.”

A brief frown interrupts Neville’s demeanor, but he shakes his head at Ron’s antics and takes a seat beside Harry. “I don’t know about that, but I just asked my date to the Yule Ball!”

“Oh, congratulations Neville!” Hermione says, beaming proudly, as Ron groans. She sends him a glare, not missing the nervous grimace that has appeared on Harry’s face, either. “The two of you ought to knock it off, really. It’s expected for everyone to bring dates to the Yule Ball. _Especially_ you, Harry, seeing as you’re a champion.”

Harry, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the cushions of his armchair, squirms under Hermione’s no-nonsense gaze. “Well, that’s...I don’t really see the point, Hermione, I mean...Who’re you going with, anyway?” he finally manages, desperate to get the attention away from him.

He hadn’t been sure Hermione would answer, but the bright flush that makes its way to her face definitely isn’t what Harry had expected. “I—That’s not important, Harry; you’ll find out at the Ball. What matters is that you” —She pauses to add an emphatic glare at him and Ron— “need dates, and quickly. You’ve got just over a week to go, and besides, most people haven’t waited this long to start asking.”

With that, she packs up her books and parchment and bids them goodnight, still rather pink, leaving Ron to his grumbling, and Harry to wonder just what in Merlin’s name he was supposed to do about getting a _date._

* * *

By the time they leave the Great Hall the following morning, Ron’s disdain for Potions has been traded in for intense skepticism over Hermione’s date; his dogged remarks follow Harry all the way up to the Charms corridor.

“I mean really, Harry,” he hears Ron say as they skirt around a group of Hufflepuffs, “don’t you think she would’ve _told_ us when someone asked her? That’s the kind of thing friends talk about.”

“Maybe she didn’t want you to bother her about it,” Harry suggests, his attention less on Ron and more on the familiar brunette head he just passed, hidden among the upper-year Hufflepuffs.

Ron, too caught up in his musings to notice Harry’s wandering gaze, continues: “I dunno, Harry, it all seems sketchy to me. Maybe she just doesn’t want to be the only one without a date.” Up ahead, the Charms classroom empties out, a throng of Ravenclaws joining the late-morning crowd. Another familiar figure appears, catching both boys’ attention, and Ron changes subjects quicker than Harry could turn on his broom. “Look, Harry, there’s Cho! You fancy her, why don’t you ask her to the Ball?”

Harry grumbles something about _fancy_ being a bit of a strong word, but Ron shoves him forward anyway. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, Harry makes his way toward Cho. Once he’s within earshot, he calls her name, and she turns from her group of friends with a small smile.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” Feeling quite stupid, Harry tries to ignore the giggles he can hear from the other girls. “Could I talk to you for a moment?” Cho nods, following Harry to the side of the hall, away from prying eyes and ears.

“Is everything alright? You look ready to faint, Harry.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her, feeling determinedly not fine at all. “I was just wondering if, um...if you’d be going to the Ball, uh, with anyone?”

Color floods to Cho’s cheeks and her smile falters. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry, I…I’ve already been asked.”

The embarrassment between them is nearly palpable. “Ah, um, alright then. Well, I guess I’ll see you later?” Feeling insufferably foolish, Harry gives Cho an awkward smile goodbye and rushes back toward Ron before she can answer.

“No luck?” Ron asks, his hopeful smile falling as Harry approaches. He only gets a terse shake of the head in response. “Bollocks. Guess Cedric beat you to it, huh?"

Harry shrugs; he hadn’t even thought to ask who had asked her, merely wanted to get away from the situation before he embarrassed himself further. Casting one last look over his shoulder as they enter Charms, Harry seeks out the Hufflepuffs, sighing quietly when he sees the group has dispersed.

* * *

That evening finds Harry awake long after his friends have gone to bed, his homework constantly derailed by thoughts of the Ball. His mortification over the failed attempt to ask Cho has lessened to a dull embarrassment and, much to his surprise, a small relief that she hadn’t said yes. He’s not really sure _why_ —it’s not as if he has other options lined up—but as awkward as he feels with her decline, he thinks he’d feel just as awkward with an acceptance.

It’s past midnight when he gives in and packs up his work; Potions essay finished, Transfiguration one nearly so, as long as Hermione doesn’t think he’s too off-base. He reaches the door to their dormitory, expecting his friends to be asleep, but is surprised to see Neville sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling away at a parchment. He looks up at Harry’s entrance.

“There you are, Harry. I thought you’d fallen asleep in the common room again.” Harry grins: he’s lost count of how many times Ron has woken him up with his head using a textbook as a pillow. Having left his bag beside his own bed, Harry leans against Neville’s four-poster, on the fringes of the _Lumos_ Neville is using to see.

“What are you working on?” Harry can hardly decipher Neville’s cramped writing, especially upside down, but it doesn’t look like any homework they’ve had recently.

“Extra research for Professor Sprout,” Neville says proudly. “Those books from Professor Moody were really interesting, and Professor Sprout said she’d give me credit if I wrote about them.”

Impressed, Harry tilts his head, skimming Neville’s essay about the uses of some plant called gillyweed. Neville’s voice startles him: “By the way, did you have any luck with asking anyone?”

“Wha— Oh, no, I didn’t.” The funny feeling he’d noticed earlier pricks at him again. “Ron got me to ask Cho, but she’s already going with someone else.”

Neville gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure she’ll have loads more fun with Cedric than with me. I mean, we don’t really know each other, right?” He looks desperately at Neville, unsure how to describe what he’s feeling. “It’s odd—I’m almost relieved she didn’t say yes, but also jealous that she’s going with someone else?” More confused than when he started, Harry shakes his head.

“Well maybe,” Neville suggests, trying poorly to hide a knowing smile, “you’re not really jealous that Cho’s going with someone, but that Cedric is?”

The second that Neville’s question sinks in, Harry feels warmth rise to his cheeks. He hopes it’s too dark to tell, but Neville’s quiet laughter tells him otherwise. “I’m not—Don’t be ridiculous, Neville, it’s not like I fancy him, or—” He cuts himself off, his face uncomfortably warm, and crosses his arms, feeling rather petulant. 

Knowing he’s struck the right chord, Neville adds, “He is handsome, though, don’t you think?”

The embarrassed splutter of nonsense that escapes Harry’s mouth sends Neville into peals of laughter, only stifling himself when Seamus stirs beside them.

“You,” Harry manages, voice rather stiff, once he’s collected himself, “can shove it.” He slips into the darkness of his four-poster and draws the curtains, but still catches Neville’s teasing whisper of _you know I’m right._

Sleep eludes Harry as he mulls over Neville’s observations, the soft scratch of the boy’s quill continuing on as white noise for his racing thoughts. He’d never thought about Cedric _like that,_ at least not consciously, but he doesn’t think Neville is exactly wrong, either. As pretty as he finds Cho to be, he can’t deny his attentions have been split elsewhere, especially since the World Cup…

_Fuck._

* * *

The morning dawns bright and cold, bringing with it a wave of nervous energy that Harry can’t shake. Now uncomfortably aware of his feelings, Harry wonders just who the hell else figured it out before him; surely Neville wasn’t the only one? But as he gets through breakfast without even a whispered mention of the Yule Ball, he forces himself to relax. He has other things to worry about.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall’s sharp voice reaches him over the clamour of the Great Hall. She waves him over, looking rather rushed, and Harry bids a quick _catch you later_ to Ron and Hermione before following.

By the time he catches up with her, McGonagall is farther down the Hall. Harry stops short beside her, confusion fading to nerves as he sees their third companion.

“Is everything alright, Professor?” asks Cedric, looking as confused as Harry feels, albeit calmer.

“Yes, Mr. Diggory, everything is fine. I simply needed to update the two of you about the Yule Ball, in the hopes you won’t be caught off-guard.” Harry exchanges a worried glance with Cedric. _This can’t be good._ “As I’m sure it has been made clear, the Yule Ball is a dance. It is tradition that the champions and their dates open the Ball with a dance, before the rest of the students join. You’ll both be prepared, I presume?”

Looking no better than if they had just been hit upside the head, both boys stumble for words of feigned agreement. Harry, for his part, feels quite close to panicking; and Cedric, too, looks more apprehensive than Harry has ever seen him.

McGonagall shakes her head, her demeanor falling to give them a sympathetic half-smile. “Don’t overthink it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get to class before my first years.”

Feeling quite dazed, Harry follows McGonagall’s path out of the Great Hall, Cedric at his side. They haven’t gone far when Cedric says, “I didn’t think they were going to make us dance.”

“Neither did I,” Harry replies. “You’re more prepared than I am, at least.”

Cedric frowns. “How d’you figure that?”

“I mean, you’ve already got a date, haven’t you?” His frown deepens. Trying not to stutter, Harry adds, “You’re...not going with Cho?”

“Ah,” Cedric says, his trademark easy smile back on his face. “No. I did ask, but she was already spoken for. To be honest, I thought she was going with you.”

An awkward laugh escapes Harry’s lips. “I guess we both got it wrong, then.”

At a loss for anything to add, the two fall silent, slowing with the crowd of students exiting the Hall. Harry can feel the sleeve of Cedric’s robes brushing against his own, and the nerves start to creep back. He thinks about what Neville said, about the things he’s realized since their talk. If Cho wasn’t going with Cedric, then that meant…

“So, does that mean you’ve not found a date yet?” The question slips out quickly, nearly lost in the bustle, but Cedric hears him.

“Yeah. I haven’t given it much thought, really. I’m sure I’ll find someone.”

Harry’s brief flash of hope is quickly swallowed by fear. He can see Neville’s teasing, yet encouraging, smile; knows he’ll never live it down if he backs out now. _Gryffindor, through and through._ “Well, in that case, uh...d’you know if there’s a—a rule, or anything, against champions going, um, together?”

Cedric meets Harry’s gaze, searching for the meaning of his question. Before Harry can explain, the words still caught in his throat, Cedric’s eyebrows raise in understanding, a wide smile lighting up his face. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and slips off into the crowd. “Professor McGonagall!”

Feeling lightheaded with relief, Harry waits at the bottom of the staircase, trying to calm his pounding heart. He watches McGonagall turn, pausing to admit Cedric to catch up; the boy still grinning as he nears the top of the stairs.

A hand on his arm pulls him back to reality. “Come on, Harry, we’ll be late to Potions!” Ron steers him toward the dungeons, Hermione a few feet ahead, looking anxious.

“Hold on, I was waiting for—” Harry turns back, but Cedric and McGonagall have disappeared from sight. Relenting to his friends’ insistence, he follows them quickly down toward the dungeons, dread increasing with every step.

* * *

If there was ever a worse time to have Potions, Harry certainly could not imagine it.

Never at ease under Snape’s looming presence at the best of times, Harry finds himself almost jittery now, his focus everywhere except on the Shrinking Solution bubbling away in his cauldron. More than once, he adds the wrong ingredient or skips a step; if it wasn’t for Hermione’s sitting beside him, Harry is sure he would have caused a scene earning him a year’s worth of detention.

As the class draws to a close, Harry, internally cursing whoever decided to make double Potions a part of their schedules, scrawls his name on a vial of his barely-passable Shrinking Solution, leaving it on Snape’s desk to be assessed. Grabbing his things and escaping before Snape can call him back, Harry leads the way to the Great Hall, unsure if he’s hoping or dreading to see Cedric.

The Hufflepuff table is still mostly empty by the time they arrive, most of the sixth and seventh years not yet arrived from the greenhouses. Harry takes a seat facing the rest of the Hall, trying to ignore the pointed, concerned looks that Ron and Hermione are giving him across the table.

Hermione is the first to break the silence: “Harry, are you alright? You’ve been nervous all morning.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron adds, “you looked ill all during Potions.”

“M’fine,” Harry says instinctively, only finally meeting their gazes when Hermione gives him a pointed raise of her eyebrow, one that clearly says _Harry Potter, you are full of it._ “Really, I’m fine! Just...thinking about the tournament, that’s all.” Ron seems to accept his excuse and turns back to his meal; Hermione, looking less than thrilled, at least stops her questioning.

A flurry of commotion draws Harry’s attention as more students enter the Great Hall. Among the newcomers, Cedric can just barely be seen, and it takes all of Harry’s self-control to wait until he’s seated. Assuring an exasperated Hermione that he won’t be gone long, Harry departs from the Gryffindor table.

He swears the Hufflepuff table never felt this far before.

When he’s still a few meters away, Cedric looks up and sees him, and the smile he sends Harry’s way sets his heart racing. Excusing himself from his friends, Cedric stands to meet Harry, the chatter of the Great Hall enough to keep them from drawing attention.

“Sorry about running off this morning,” Harry begins. “Did you, um, did you talk to Professor McGonagall?”

“I did.” Cedric’s eyes twinkle; whether out of enjoyment or mischievousness, Harry can’t tell. “I think she was surprised, to be honest. She said that she’d never seen it happen, since there were only ever three champions, but there doesn’t seem to be a rule against it.”

“Brilliant! Um, that’s…” Taking a deep breath, Harry looks at Cedric; as he watches, smiling, for Harry to relax, to _ask._ The words tumble out before he can overthink them further: “In that case, then, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Cedric’s smile grows, brighter, more genuine. “I’d love to.”

The joy that hits Harry then, the _relief,_ causes a grin to split across his face. He isn’t sure what to say, if anything, but shouts from Cedric’s friends interrupt their moment before Harry can decide.

“Sorry,” Cedric says, waving back to his friends to indicate he’d heard them. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, and turns back toward the Gryffindor table, feeling lighter than if someone had cast a feather-light charm on him. Resuming his seat, Harry notices Neville has joined them, mid-conversation with Hermione about Potions.

Casting one glance at Harry upon his arrival, Neville raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Harry sends him a pointed look; _say nothing._ A smug grin settles on Neville’s face and Harry feels his blush rising; he can see the pride, the _I told you so,_ written all over Neville’s features. Flipping him off as subtly as he can manage, Harry returns to his food, feeling quite certain that the following weekend couldn’t come quickly enough.

* * *

The remaining days until the Yule Ball fly by, each one quicker than the day before. Following Hermione’s lead, Harry had decided to keep his date’s identity a secret, brushing off his increasingly frequent conversations with Cedric as being relevant to the tournament. Together, they figured out that Fleur was attending with Roger Davies, the captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Krum’s date, however, remained a mystery, as neither Harry nor Cedric had seen him talk to anyone outside of mealtimes.

Among his own friends, Harry had finally tuned in and learned about the pairings that would be attending with him: Seamus and Dean were going together (“I don’t see why you’re surprised, Harry,” Hermione had said, after he’d heard about it. “They’ve been together since the year started. Where have you been?”) and so were Parvati and Lavender Brown, which surprised Harry slightly less. He had also wheedled Neville into revealing that he was going with Ginny— “I figured I’d have more fun with a friend,” he’d admitted, and Harry could find no fault with that.

The only one who’d had no luck was Ron, much to no one’s surprise. Just over a day before the Ball, Parvati had taken pity on him, and had asked Padma who, up to that point, preferred to attend alone, to accompany Ron. After a bit of convincing, Padma had agreed, out of pity if nothing else.

Head swirling with the events of the past week, Harry finds himself outside the Great Hall on the night of the Ball, Ron beside him, full of the same nerves he’d had when he asked Cedric to accompany him. The boy in question was also in the entrance hall, a few meters from Harry, looking much more at ease. Many other students, alone and in pairs, meander around the hall; among them, Harry can see both Krum and Cho, his curiosity piquing once again as to who their dates might be.

Being friends with Ron, however, means that Harry has no need to voice his thoughts on the matter.

“Really, Harry, what _is_ taking Hermione so bloody long to get down here? She’s been getting ready for ages!” Ron’s rambling continues, mere background noise to Harry as he surveys the hall. He sends a brief wave toward Parvati, Lavender, and Padma as they make their way over. “And why aren’t Cedric and Cho standing together? Didn’t she tell you he had asked her? And Krum? He’s the most famous person here, except maybe you, Harry, but even you’ve got a date! Where is she, by the way, you never said…”

His nerves near the breaking point, Harry is quite certain he can’t take much more of Ron’s incessant commentary. “Mate, if you don’t sh—”

“Look!” Parvati’s voice pulls Harry away from Ron, and the four of them turn to see where she’s pointing.

Descending the staircase, dressed in robes of periwinkle-blue, is Hermione, looking beautiful and regal and _happy._ She catches Harry’s eye and sends him a shy smile. When her gaze breaks from his, it roams the crowd; Harry sees her face brighten when she finds her target. He watches Hermione navigate the hall, oblivious to the many pairs of eyes that watch her, in awe.

Watches as she appears in front of Cho, and throws her arms around her, both smiling more than Harry has ever seen.

It all clicks in his head, then: Hermione’s secretiveness, Cho’s embarrassment, why he’d never seen Hermione even _talk_ to another guy outside of class. Distantly, he can hear Ron asking him if he knew about this, but he doesn’t care. The girls look over at Harry, now, and he can see the apprehension on both their faces. A grin spreads over his face and he gives them an encouraging thumbs up, and Hermione and Cho smile back, relieved.

“Champions, gather round!” McGonagall approaches Harry; beside her stands a girl with pale blonde hair and a faraway look, wearing flowy yellow robes. At McGonagall’s announcement, the girl moves to stand beside Krum, who has joined them.

“Who is _that?”_ Ron exclaims, his voice still loud enough to be heard despite the girls’ dragging him toward the Great Hall.

“Her name is Luna Lovegood, Ron,” explains Padma, sounding tired. “She’s in Ravenclaw. I think she’s the only friend Krum’s managed to make at Hogwarts. She’s always out wandering and met Krum when he was out running. She’s sweet.”

Harry’s attention, quite all over the place, settles in on Cedric, now, and the clamour around him seems to die down. In his dress robes, Cedric looks more handsome than Harry ever imagined, and he gives the grinning boy a shy smile of his own.

“Ready?” Cedric asks, and extends his arm.

Stifling a comment about how they’d faced dragons, so surely a dance would be easy, Harry takes Cedric’s arm with a simple, “Ready.”

They fall in line behind Krum and Luna, Fleur and Davies in front. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry catches Padma shoving a gobsmacked Ron into the Great Hall and can’t help but grin at his friend’s surprise. With a sound of trumpets, McGonagall signals to Fleur, and suddenly they’re walking into the Hall, all eyes on them.

As they reach the empty dance floor, Harry can feel his nerves returning; the hushed whispers buzzing in the crowd don’t help, either. He’s used to being the center of unwanted attention, but this is new.

Cedric takes his hand, then, and Harry focuses back on him. The music starts with a flourish and, despite his abysmal ability to dance, Harry falls easily into step with Cedric. Their eyes meet and the rest of the Hall falls away. Cedric smiles, and Harry is certain he’d be content to stay in this moment for quite a long time.

After some time that could have been hours or minutes, the music changes, and the other couples begin to flood the dance floor. A swish of blue fabric catches Harry’s eye, and he and Cedric turn to see Hermione and Cho claiming the space beside them. The girls greet them both, but Harry can see the apprehension still lingering behind Hermione’s eyes.

“You both look beautiful,” Cedric says, and Harry agrees.

Flashing a brief smile as thanks, Hermione looks between them. “I hope you’re not angry, Harry. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“I’m sorry as well,” Cho adds. “I think I confused you both.”

“It’s okay, really.” Harry smiles, shaking his head at Hermione when she opens her mouth to argue. “Hermione, honestly! You both look happy, and that’s what matters.”

“He’s right,” Cedric says. “I think it worked out for all of us.”

Hermione smiles, looking affectionately between Cho and the boys. “We do make pretty cute couples, I’d say.”

Harry feels his face go pink, but Cedric merely gives him a knowing smile and says, “Yeah, I agree.”

The evening continues easily, filled with laughter and friendly conversation and plenty of dancing. Ron, finally calm, congratulates Harry and Hermione on their dates, having lost Padma at some point after the first dance. Ginny introduces them to Luna, who, despite seeming a bit odd, strikes Harry as being a good friend to have.

At some point, many dances later, Harry excuses himself from Cedric, promising to return with drinks. He’s almost dazed with the closeness, his emotions doing backflips in his stomach: whatever he’s feeling, there’s a lot of it.

Harry spots a familiar figure near the refreshments, and he moves to stand next to Neville with a quiet greeting. “Are you enjoying the Ball?”

“Definitely!” Neville replies. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while. Ginny’s a riot, honestly. What about you, Harry? I must say, you look happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.”

He blushes but doesn’t deny it, and shakes his head when Neville begins to laugh. “Shut up, Nev. And _don’t_ say I told you so.” Grabbing drinks for himself and Cedric, Harry returns to his date, now accompanied by Hermione and Cho.

“Thanks!” Cedric says, as Harry hands over his drink. It’s almost easy, Harry thinks, being this close to Cedric. Feels normal. Feels _right._ They exchange smiles, and before Harry can notice, Cedric leans over and places a quick kiss on his cheek.

Quite certain he’s turned redder than his Quidditch robes, Harry looks past Hermione’s teasing smile to where Neville stands, grinning, and shooting him a thumbs up. Harry sends him a glare, which only causes the other boy to laugh.

“Too much?” Cedric whispers, not failing to notice Harry’s blush.

Turning away from Neville, Harry meets Cedric’s gaze, feeling his nerves finally settle. Screw the tournament, everything—he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Taking Cedric’s free hand in his, Harry grins and says, “Not at all.”


End file.
